


Mirror in the Sky

by zarabithia



Category: Superman Returns (2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-09
Updated: 2006-07-09
Packaged: 2019-04-06 23:43:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14068167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: Dick discovers that five years isn't quite long enough to get over Superman.





	Mirror in the Sky

Dick had thought. . . hoped. . . and even, in the deepest recesses of his mind, prayed, that he'd moved on by now. He'd hoped that he'd grown up and out of not only his mentor's shadow, but also out of the silly, all consuming puppy love he'd once carried for his mentor's best friend. 

He was too old. . . too responsible. . . too sick and tired of waiting for a man whose heart belonged to someone else.  
  
Despite the fact that Dick had never felt the intense rush of need and " _oh, yes, I want **that** ," _thathe'd had for Clark with Donna, Clancy, Roy or Kory during the time span, five years _was_ a long time. Also, despite the fact that ever since Superman had left, the anticipation Dick felt every time he looked up into the sky with the hope that Superman would return was greater than when he had laid down with any of his previous lovers, it should have been long enough to get over his stupid fanboy crush.  
  
But, given the shear number of times Dick found his gaze turning towards that big, empty sky, he kind of worried that he'd be doomed to languish in the wasteland of the unrequited love ad infinitum.  
  
His suspicions were confirmed the minute Superman marked his return by dropping a plane in the middle of a baseball field. From the minute of that newscast on, Dick's glances up at the sky actually doubled, and the disappointment Dick felt everytime Clark didn't come hurdling out of the sky let him know that yes, five years might have been a long time, but his affection for Superman was far too insistent to bow to time. Any lingering doubt promptly got its' ass kicked the night Superman landed on Dick's balcony.  
  
Okay, it wasn't really a balcony - his tiny apartment wasn't grand enough to have one of those attached to it. It was really more of an extended windowsill, but the grand way Clark landed, with that tight costume accenting every thing that made Superman physically great and that cape flowing regally behind him as a reminder of everything _else_ that made Superman great made the silly little structure _look_ every bit as grand as a structure befitting the King of England. Or, Queen.  
  
Apparently, when it came to Superman, Dick's thoughts were just as rambling as they had been before Clark had left the planet. Yeah, five years hadn't changed much.  
  
The one undeniable thing that had changed in the past half decade had fallen asleep in Dick's lap. Lian Harper's sleeping habits always included being rocked to sleep, whether it was by her one of her beloved aunts or uncles or her father. Roy had begun that ritual - Dick suspected it had been born purely out of guilt that his friend felt about all the time he wanted to spend with his daughter and didn't. Normally, of course, that was all fine and good. The utter need that Lian displayed each time she crawled into his lap, requested a song, and laid her head on his shoulder without a shred of distrust was something Dick treasured greatly.  
  
But rising out of the chair without disturbing Lian was difficult, and Dick was just shallow enough to note that each second he spent taking Lian back to the bedroom and depositing her quietly on the bed was a second he wasn't spending with Superman. Wincing at the thought, Dick carefully hid his own despicable greed as he walked back into the living room.  
  
What do you say to someone who hasn't been in your life for five years? "Hi." Probably anything but that, Dick decided with another mental wince.  
  
Clark's gaze didn't leave the bedroom. "You have a daughter?" His voice was a lot softer than Dick ever remembered it being. It was also a lot sadder. Dick couldn't immediately recall a time when Clark hadn't sounded happy. Even during the times that Clark had wrapped those enormous arms around him and offered his own brand of sweetly, irritatingly platonic comfort . . . or when Clark had gifted Dick with the identity of Nightwing, there had been the Superman voice and smile. Sure, the smile had come in different sizes and types depending on whether Dick was happy or upset, but it had been a reliable part of his life since he'd been eight years old.  
  
Dick momentarily forced himself to be distracted away from the sadness of Clark's voice long enough to answer the man's question. "No, Lian's not mine."  
  
Clark tore his gaze away from the bedroom then. "She has a pretty good claim on the bedroom for someone who doesn't live here." He tilted his head enough that the curl bounced. "And on the bathroom, too, it looks like."  
  
"Yeah." Dick ran a hand nervously through his hair and wondered why it felt like he had to tread on eggshells with this conversation. If Lian _had_ been his, Clark would have been overjoyed. If Dick ever did reproduce, he wasn't sure Clark wouldn't be the third person to know about it. He'd certainly be a lot higher on the list than Bruce. "I'm her favorite uncle," Dick offered to fill the melancholy space that he'd never associated with Superman. "Arsenal's her father."  
  
The slight tilt of Clark's head signaled that Superman didn't know who Dick was talking about. Because. . . _of course he didn't._ There hadn't _been_ an Arsenal when Clark had left. Feeling like an idiot, he clarified, "Speedy."  
  
"I see. So much has changed. . . " Clark's voice trailed off, and Dick couldn't ever remember him doing _that_ before either. "Do you have a new name, too?"  
  
"No," Dick assured him quickly, "I'm still the same old Nightwing."  
  
It was the only reassurance Dick could give, though he sensed Clark needed so much _more._ The pain that clung to Clark made the air actually difficult to breath. It wasn't _right_ that _Superman_ should be this _hurt_ and _broken._ He was Superman, for God's sake- he was supposed to be _unbreakable._ Dick wanted nothing more than to find the person responsible for causing this hurt and beat them until they needed to be carried away by a stretcher.  
  
Except. . . he was pretty sure he already knew who had caused this hurt, and if he was right, he couldn't very well hit _her._ He could get away with beating the crap out of the lousy committee that gave her that award for dreadful little article of hers, though. _Why the World Doesn't Need Superman._ Hadn't the woman given any thought to how much that would hurt him when Superman came back?  
  
The spiteful part of Dick's brain told him she knew good and damn well how much it would hurt and that impetus had been far more important than any Pulitzer.  
  
But Dick's bitterness at Lois Lane was cut short by the fact that Superman's fingers were trailing up and down the front of his costume. Dick tried to suppress every urge that his brain was yelling at him to carry out and wound up merely shivering at Clark's touch. Dick figured it was a nice compromise.  
  
"No," Clark disagreed, "You've changed, too. Is this your new costume?"  
  
"Um, yeah. I didn't have time to change before Roy left for his date."  
  
Clark's fingers were still caressing the middle of his chest in some weird pattern that didn't immediately register to Dick's brain. But it did register that if Clark altered his movements by an inch to the left or right, he'd be . . . fondling a very sensitive part of Dick's upper body.  
  
"What happened to the old costume?" Clark asked, and Dick started to ask which one before it dawned on him that the pattern Clark was tracing was, in fact, a 'V', which, combined with the fact that Clark hadn't been around for the second costume, made easy to deduce that he was talking about the first one.  
  
"Well, you know . . . it was a little too flashy for a creature of the night."  
  
Clark withdrew his hand, and shook his head slowly. " _Bat_ man is a creature of the night. _Robins_ aren't."  
  
He didn't bother reminding Clark that he hadn't been Robin in a very long time. He didn't tell Clark that popular consensus amongst his friends had him becoming a little more like Bruce every day. He most especially didn't tell Clark that Dick had wished for Clark to reappear every day that he'd been gone so that Superman could have reassured him that The Titans were wrong because the man didn't need to feel guilty for Dick's own lack of independence. "So, you're saying you don't like my costume? Because, you know, chicks _dig_ the costume." It was a lame joke, resurrected from a childhood that only two other people had shared with him. But Dick was still frantically grasping at straws to attempt to lighten the situation that seemed so inappropriately dark. This wasn't _Bruce,_ for God's sake, although a tiny part of Dick whispered that it felt so much like Bruce that it felt as though Superman hadn't come back at all.  
  
The lame joke was partially successful, because the corners of Clark's mouth tipped slightly upwards. "Somehow, I don't think it's the costume they're looking at so much as what it's clinging to."  
  
Wait. . . did Clark just make a reference to his _ass_? Dick didn't think Deathstroke had hit him hard enough to cause delusions, so yes, Superman really _must_ be standing in his apartment, _referring to his ass_.  
  
Maybe things really _did_ change a lot in five years.  
  
Still, Dick didn't think his own ass was an appropriate topic for discussion, just in case he really was having delusions. "You have a new costume, too," he remarked in reply. Dick didn't mention the fact that it was butt ugly _and too dark_ for Superman.  
  
"Yes. The fashion critics haven't been too kind to it."  
  
That was an understatement. This year was probably the first time ever that Clark's iconic suit had ended up next to Alan Scott's on the "Worst Dressed List."  
  
"I've noticed. Apparently, both of our former costumes are due for a comeback." He was trying _so hard_ to lighten mood. Why wasn't it working?  
  
"Legacies are important, Dick," Clark's voice, when it was this low caressed his name like an invitation Dick had always wanted and never received. "For both acrobats and Kryptonians."  
  
"About that. . .how was your trip?"  
  
"You know, you're the first person to have asked that." Clark shifted his gaze back to the bedroom before answering. "It was a grave yard. I truly am the last of my people." _I'm alone,_ Clark didn't say, but Dick heard it anyway.  
  
The hurt in Clark's voice gave Dick the courage to do something he'd never done in the past. Taking his cue from the many times Clark had comforted him, Dick laid a gentle but firm hand on the man's shoulder. The act forced Clark into making eye contact, and the look in those eyes that had so frequently been full of mirth now more closely resembled the look of a puppy that had been struck too many times. "I'm sorry you didn't find what you were looking for," he said truthfully. "But you have to know how much the people of _this_ planet have missed you."  
  
"Not everyone."  
  
Dick bit back his temper. _Be tactful, be tactful, be tactful._ As deliberately unBatman-like as possible, he responded, "Then maybe I shouldn't be so _arrogant_ as to project _my_ feelings about your return onto rest of the world." Clark's eyebrows raised, and Dick figured he'd failed the tactfulness test. " _I_ know your mission was important to you, but _I_ missed you, and _I_ 'm glad you're back because _I_ very much do need Superman."  
  
For a minute, Dick was worried that he'd said too much. But that fear completely abandoned him when Superman smiled. Those eyes that had looked on the verge of tearing up moments ago now sparkled with the familiar warmth that had always been on display during Dick's youth. Before he could fully register what was happening, Clark had him engulfed in one of those hugs that wasn't quite the way Dick remembered them being. But it was. . . better, somehow.  
  
Or maybe five years hadn't changed anything at all.  
  
"You're the first person to say that, too," Clark whispered next to his ear. "Thank You." Clark's breath was warm but Dick's body shivered like a person who was freezing would do. When Clark pulled away, Dick cursed his traitorous body for reacting that way, lest Clark think Dick didn't enjoy the touch.  
  
But Clark was still smiling at him when he pulled away, so all was right in Dick's world. "We have a lot to catch up on," The Man of Steel acknowledged, "And there's someone I'd like to meet Lian. I take it you won't mind if I'm a weekly presence in your city?"  
  
Dick wouldn't have minded if Clark _moved_ to his city, but that would probably sound needy, so he simply nodded. "I'd like that, actually."  
  
"Good." Clark smiled one more glorious Superman smile that reached over and tickled Dick's toes. "I missed you while I was away, too, Dick. And I've come back to discover that you're not a child anymore. I look forward to discovering what kind of man you've become."  
  
_I wasn't a child when you left,_ Dick argued internally. _You just never noticed._ But Dick still wasn't quite adult enough to argue with Superman, so he simply smiled at Clark and watched him go.  
  
Dick wasn't sure if Clark's parting words had really held the promise of an invitation the way his obsessive mind hoped, but Clark's body language and tone had been suggestive enough that Dick didn't feel like an idiot for being _cautiously optimistic_ about the possibility. A naggish little voice in the back of his head reminded Dick that he should really be over this silly little crush by now if he had really grown up the way Clark thought he had.  
  
Five years _was_ a long time. But it wasn't nearly as long as the eight years Dick had spent wanting Clark before Superman had left their lives. For that reason, Dick felt perfectly justified in picking right back up where they'd left off.  



End file.
